


Table Manners

by ninetiesnecklace



Series: That Way Madness Lies [3]
Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Seduction, missing scene 2.5, public hand job
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-20 02:52:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8233535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninetiesnecklace/pseuds/ninetiesnecklace
Summary: The (dis)advantages of place cards.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Much like the series fucks with the timeline/mentions huge gaps in a single throwaway comment, this fic has another time frame as its background. It certainly hasn't been a year since the fist fight.

“Awkward,” Francis commented with a smile as he noticed the long look Ross and George exchanged across the busy room.

“Not for me,” Ross chuckled and took delight in the astonished expression on George’s face. It was rare to see the banker honestly surprised and the short break in his otherwise impeccable appearance made Ross’ mood lighter than it was to begin with. This time, George’s presence was one among many and it would surely be possible to avoid each other. Ross was not after a fight – in fact, his newfound friendship with Francis and the functioning beam engine they had installed in Wheal Grace left him in a pleasant mood.

“The last time we met he went head over heels,” Ross continued, the memory making him smile faintly. “I doubt he’d be keen to repeat the experience.”

Francis smiled and took a sip of his drink when the host’s voice sounded through the dining room. “Please be seated, everyone.”

The engagement dinner of Caroline Penvenen and Unwin Trevaunance was a lively occasion. Music was played, the table was colourfully set with flowers and decoration and the guests themselves talked amiably among themselves as they walked around the room in search for their place cards. Francis had already found his when Ross happened upon his name in ink, elegantly written on thick paper and a long way from Francis and Elizabeth. To Ross’ right a young lady was placed who he didn’t know. And to his left – _George Warleggan_. Ross drew his brows together in confusion as his eyes scattered over the generous loops of the written name. Whoever was in charge of the seating arrangement had evidently not heard of their recent clash. Or, it was a strikingly conscious decision.

Ross gave Demelza a smile when their eyes met at an awkward angle. His wife was seated not only far away from him but also on the same side of the table, making a conversation during dinner impossible. Ross sipped on his drink and sat down. He would not let such an unfortunate circumstance weigh on his enjoyment of the evening. And if George could behave himself Ross would not have any difficulties either.

Just then the man in question appeared, deep in conversation with Unwin as he sat down next to Ross without so much as acknowledging him. George’s surely expensive coat shimmered in a dark purple and elicited a private smile from Ross. Of course he would use the occasion to have a new coat made, and one that fitted perfectly at that, while Demelza and Elizabeth wore their old gowns. Wealth was certainly strangely distributed in Cornwall.

Ross turned to the young lady next to him and introduced himself. She turned out to be a charming woman and so he spent the aperitif and the first course in interesting company. When the conversation came to a natural halt, Ross helped himself to a glass of water from the carafe in front of him. The delicious wine that was served was on its way to his head and the pleasant buzz it left was enough for now. If he had heard correctly, there would be music after dinner and Demelza would certainly like to dance with him after the long break from parties they had had.

“Ross,” George said as he turned to him. The characteristic way of pronouncing his name, the breathy beginning and the hiss to the s-sound – Ross could pick out his voice among a hundred.

“Good evening, George,” Ross answered with a relaxed smile. The normality of the situation made him feel at ease – the other guests were chatting and eating so that a pleasant murmur lay over the scene, only pierced by a sudden laugh or the enthusiastic clinking of glasses. Not even George would dare to provoke him here. And, a fleeting thought, maybe he was not out for confrontation in the first place.

“What a surprise that we should be seated next to each other,” George said in conversational tone. “The nature of our last meeting has barely left the town’s gossip and here we are.”

“Indeed.” Ross smiled thinly and nodded towards George. “Your cheek has healed well.”

“And your lip,” the banker replied in kind while his eyes flickered shortly to Ross’ mouth.

“If they are hoping for entertainment of a raucous kind they will be disappointed,” Ross said, “Am I right?”

“Certainly,” George lifted his glass and took a sip. “It is not my intention to upstage a possible announcement.”

“Because you care so deeply for other people?” Ross asked, more sarcastic in tone than he had anticipated. A reflex that had been trained for a long time, a way of holding a conversation that neither of them could shake. George did not seem offended, however. Only a faint smile played around his thin lips as he leaned closer.

“I do care for some,” he said and laid a hand on Ross’ knee. “Affection is a fickle good, as you know.”

Ross’ eyes widened for a second. The touch of George’s hand was light, only his fingertips brushing against the breeches and his skin underneath. Yet Ross could hardly believe that he dared to cross over into his personal space in public. Whatever this gesture should entail, whatever affection he was alluding to – Elizabeth’s affection for him, his affection for Demelza, even his improved relationship with Francis – Ross would certainly not give George the gratification of a strong reaction. Ross wetted his lips and tried for an unfazed expression.

“As is attention,” he replied and moved to turn back to the young lady next to him.

It would have driven the point home, impressively so, if George weren’t so quick in his reactions. The hand on his knee slid up in a decent pace to rest on the middle of his thigh and Ross could feel his muscles tense inadvertently.

“Well…” George’s voice became a little husky, “only if one doesn’t know how to generate it.”

Ross couldn’t help but look at George again, the blue eyes focussing on him under the long lashes. He was too close to him, his hand indecently high on his leg and yet it wasn’t mischief that shimmered in his eyes. No, George looked at him in that muted intensity of his, the sharpness lying in wait for the right moment. Ross breathed out slowly as he consciously relaxed his thigh. The warmth of George’s hand seeped through the thin fabric and, whether he liked it or not, George had indeed generated his attention.

“George…” he said, calmly, “what are you doing?”

“Wasn’t it you who claimed that there’s an inevitable physical reaction when we meet?” George asked in feigned consideration and let his hand slide to the inside of Ross’ thigh. “I seem to recall there are two ways this can go. And one we haven’t pursued in a while.”

Ross breathed out slowly as the increased pressure of George’s hand reminded him of the strength and utter force their _other_ encounter had been coined by. George had kissed him as if he wanted to steal the air from his lungs, rocking down on Ross’ cock while the brunet dug his nails into his back and pulled the ever-perfect curls. It wasn’t often that they ended up clawing at each other in desire, always on the verge of a fight but strangely drawn to each other. Ross counted only a handful of occasions after their school days – none of which he would ever admit to anyone, especially not Demelza. She had never asked for particulars when he stayed in Truro overnight and he hadn’t offered any.

But _dammit_ , he was a married man, regardless of what had happened in the past. And yet his pulse quickened as George’s fingertips drew slow circles on the inside of his thigh. Without his approval his body react to George’s advances; a hint of excitement joined the pleasant warmth from the wine.

“And is _that_ supposed to be an apology?” Ross asked and nodded to George’s hand without attracting attention from the chatting guests. “For the state of my lip after our fight?”

Again George’s eyes darted to his mouth and Ross couldn’t suppress a smug feeling when the banker’s defence gave in for a split second – then, George’s blasé gaze was back.

“Not in the least.” George’s grip became stronger as his hand inched farther upwards, slowly but ceaselessly.

This was inacceptable. George confidently pandered to him but at the same time Ross couldn’t suppress a feeling of being challenged. Surely the banker dared him to become outraged, to draw attention to them, to be once again the source of ruckus. And this time, George could simply lean back and pretend to be uninvolved.

Or, a tiny voice in the back of his head offered, it was something else. Maybe George didn’t scheme this time. For a fraction of a second he saw George’s tongue dart out to wet his lip as he rubbed slow circles onto Ross’ breeches and into his skin. The blue eyes seemed cloudy as they searched for Ross’ reaction, quickly, before focussing on the richly set table again.

Ross tried to level his breathing, to ignore the stirring in his cock honouring George’s attention on him. It would only take one determined shove to make him stop and return this situation to decency. One simple movement.

The imprint of George’s hand seemed to linger, outlined in a silhouette of warmth on Ross’ thigh as it moved higher. Enticing sensations dashed through him and just then, Ross wasn’t sure what it felt like – a transgression of boundaries or the fulfilment of a sudden craving. Around them the dinner went on like it had before and Ross’ heart sped up as he slowly pulled the starched white napkin from his lap.

George’s hand shone on the dark fabric of his breeches, pale to the point of being positively white, a sharp outline. Ross’ eyes followed the elegant cut of George’s overcoat to the slim wrist appearing from the cuff, over the powdered back of his hand and the long fingers winding around his thigh. He saw the hand move and in the next instant the motion registered in his nerves - Ross turned rigid when two of George’s fingers brushed against his cock in careless simplicity. The touch was feathery, tentative even, but it shot hotly through Ross and without his doing his hips moved into the touch as far as possible. George’s fingers slid along his groin and just as Ross actually _saw_ them palm his cock he knew that he wouldn’t stop George. Somewhere off to his left he heard Demelza’s ringing laughter and Captain McNeill joining in heartily but he couldn’t bring himself to reignite his jealousy. Not with George’s fingertips on his beginning erection and the undeniable truth that Ross wanted to be touched by him again.

He leaned back in his chair and calmly adjusted his napkin over his groin, covering George’s hand. Then, he placed his hands back on the table and shot him a look; George curled his lips and before Ross could decide whether it was a smile or not the banker began to move his hand.

Ross broke eye contact, parted his lips and breathed out quietly as George’s hand cupped his cock with more pressure. The smooth curve of his palm pressed against him now rather than only the tentative touch of his fingertips. Slowly, George rubbed over his hardening cock and sent a pleasant tingle through Ross. The warmth of his hand seeped through the thin fabric and onto Ross’ skin, relaxing and enticing at once. Now that he had agreed to… to _this_ all earlier rigidness was gone – since his chair was positioned closely to the table he could lean on his backrest, hands on the tabletop, without revealing the delicate nature of George’s touches. Still, someone might notice and the possibility made Ross’ heart jump in arousal. Around him sat most of Truro’s gentry in impeccable politeness and here he was, receiving _not an apology_ from his declared enemy.

And it felt good.

The steady pressure and slow strokes washed through Ross as he leaned heavier on the backrest and allowed himself to enjoy this unexpected treat. The last time George had touched him in such a way he had been on his knees in front of Ross and the flicker of memory made the brunet shiver in delight. But this… this was new, exciting, and he’d be damned if he didn’t make the most of George’s attention on him.

Ross resisted the urge to close his eyes and concentrated on the movements of George’s wandering hand. Even though the napkin covered the exact motions Ross could discern every single brush, picturing the pale hand between his legs. George ran his fingers down either side of his erection only to follow up with a twist of his hand and a full, long stroke and Ross’ heart beat in excitement. He was hard, undeniably, shameless even though it had taken but a few touches and the right mood. George simply _knew_ how to draw a reaction from him and Ross couldn’t possibly see it as a disadvantage right now.

On instinct, he opened his legs further and felt his cock strain against the tight cut of his breeches. George followed the invitation immediately. His hand ran lower and his fingers spread as he caressed Ross with enough pressure to make him gasp quietly. Ross bit his lip and carefully looked along the table – the sound got lost in the general buzz of animated chatter, luckily, and so far no one had noticed that he and George were not engaging in conversation.

The warmth from his groin began to spread, seeping into his thighs and stomach with every clever move of George’s hand. Ross did not dare to look at the banker. Not so much for fear of what he might find in his expression but because he didn’t trust his own demeanour; looking casual became difficult, especially now that George’s strokes unmistakably picked up. His cheeks felt flushed and while even arousal washed through his entire body now the new pace brought him a sharper edge of desire.

“Mr Williams, did you hear about the beam engine?” George’s voice cut through his concentration. “As a man of the trade I would be interested in your opinion.”

Ross flinched lightly, startled as George leaned towards the table and addressed the man sitting across from them. The banker’s left was positioned next to his cutlery, perfectly normal, while his right was buried in Ross’ groin – and it remained there, too, while George waited for Mr Williams to respond.

Not an apology indeed. Ross swallowed heavily and tried to calm down but to no avail. His pulse was hammering against his necktie, his fingertips digging slightly into the tablecloth and as if from a sudden vision he realised just how obvious his predicament must be. What had started as an exciting yet somewhat harmless teasing was becoming a risky endeavour. A part of Ross was roused in anger at George’s foul play, at his insistence of challenging him. The continuing touches, however… Ross cleared his throat quietly and gave it his utmost to look normal while his cock pressed against George’s hand.

“Ah yes, the improved invention,” Mr Williams said enthusiastically and looked at George. He was an elderly man and the head of one of Cornwall’s oldest mining families, and both George and Ross knew him from their respective fathers’ businesses. “I heard many promises of its capabilities but not yet any certain results.”

“Well, Ross,” George turned to Ross, “didn’t you and Francis just invest in such an engine for Wheal Grace?”

Ross shot George a sharp look that hopefully went unnoticed by Mr Williams. _You bastard_. George merely looked at him with his head tilted in interest, still except for his fingers teasing lower while his palm worked Ross’ cock. No muscle in his face betrayed his other preoccupation; every bit the self-assured banker he made perfectly polite conversation.

“Uhm, yes,” Ross answered a heartbeat too late and forced a smile as he looked at Mr Williams, “We did indeed. Just installed it this week.”

His voice sounded a tad shaky but Ross sincerely hoped that it was only audible to himself. George’s hand dragged slowly across his groin and for a moment the pressure on his cock was gone – instead, a tug on his breeches, the popping of a button on the flap and Ross turned pale. Surely George wouldn’t…

Yet before this thought had even formed in his mind George’s hand slid into his trousers.

 _God_. Ross barely stifled the moan building in his throat as the pressure returned to his cock. Strong, soft, and immediate. George’s hand had felt warm before but now that no fabric was left between them it was positively hot. Ross’ skin seemed to pulsate under the banker’s grip as it reacted to the sudden heat that seemed to sweep through every cell.

“And how deep does it drain?” George asked him, an interested expression on his face and keeping his eyes on Ross. _You scheming prick_. Part of Ross was outraged at George’s audacity, at his insistence to heighten the possibility of being found out. Ross had had an inkling as to that particular taste of George’s but that he should be the one feeling the consequences… Yet before anger could take its hold George’s thumb swiped slowly over the head of Ross’ cock and the brunet tried to keep his body from shivering in pleasure. God, how badly he wanted to thrust into his hand; this feeling of skin on skin made Ross dizzy, the inability to act on his desires frustrating and arousing in equal measure.

“50 fathoms,” he managed to answer George’s question, not without wetting his dry lips first. “At least these are the bold claims the engineers make.”

“Just imagine the kind of power that is behind it,” George offered and Mr Williams nodded in agreement.

“Certainly a courageous investment,” the older man said, “Pray, Mr Warleggan, how are your attempts to create banking possibilities in Truro faring?”

Ross almost sighed in relief that he was off the hook for now, conversation-wise. George, however, seemed perfectly capable of maintaining a dialogue and pleasuring Ross at the same time. Ross would have been angry at himself for being so easily compromised but George’s fingers wrapped around his cock toned down his thoughts. The soft skin, the measured strokes, the easy flow of words from his mouth – a whore and a gentleman and George knew how to combine both characteristics well.

Ross did his best to focus on the conversation the two men held while he tried to move his hips into George’s touch. He shifted in his chair and George reacted with a flick of his wrist, a change of angle that sent a sudden spark of pleasure through Ross. George’s grip became tighter and Ross shivered at the wonderful pressure that drew in his every pore. Under the layers of clothing he was beginning to sweat as the banker picked up his strokes again. How _good_ the smooth sensation of his hot hand and the teasing drags over the head of his cock felt. Ross’ body was reacting too perfectly the touches and the need to take George outside, to fuck him in the shadow of the large mansion, was growing with every moment he spent under his attention. Maybe he could make George leave and wait for him somewhere outside, or they could find an empty room upstairs. In any case, Ross _needed_ release, and soon. Ross almost gasped out loud at a particularly long stroke while George still talked and just then he understood just how bad of an idea this whole thing actually was. For how should it end, realistically?

His eyes widened. Surely George wouldn’t dare make him come right here, in society, cumming into his breeches like a school boy. Ross carefully looked over to George but he appeared deep into conversation with Mr Williams. The brunet’s breath was coming faster now and before knew what he was doing his left moved to his groin, pressing his palm on the silhouette of George’s hand under the napkin. George barely slowed down. Out of the corner of his eye Ross saw him smile faintly, whether it was at something Mr Williams had said or his own desperate attempt to stop him Ross didn’t know. And god, the slower strokes only added to his arousal. The brunet could feel his cheeks burn up as he dug his nails through the napkin and into the back of George’s hand. Pressure was building low in his stomach and…

“Mr Warleggan, Sir,” a quiet voice said on George’s other side. “There is an urgent message for you.”

For a moment, the movements on Ross’ cock died down and only the weight of both their hands remained. Ross breathed deeply, carefully, and clenched his jaw as the sensations seemed to travel through his body, every muscle tensed.

“Of course,” George answered the footman and in one smooth move his hand slid out of Ross’ breeches. The back of his hand glided along Ross’ sweaty palm out and from underneath the napkin; his fingertips brushed against Ross’ cock once more and this time, the brunet couldn’t hold back a groan. The sudden loss of touch, of heat, and the very insistent arousal that made his body pulsate seemed to intensify the sensations.

“Are you alright, Mr Poldark?” Mr Williams asked with a worried look on his face but before he had to answer with more than a nod and a strained smile George spoke.

“If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen,” he smiled and Mr Williams nodded understandingly. Ross breathed out in relief when the latter turned to the lady next to him rather than ensnaring him in a conversation.

Next to him, George picked up the napkin from his own lap and just then, he looked at Ross. The brunet’s eyes were drawn to the long fingers that handled the napkin, wiping them off in precise movements. Strong and delicate, and so goddamn crafty…

“Certainly,” Ross mumbled in answer to George’s words and managed to catch his breath. His own hand on his groin brushed against his erection as he fumbled for the breeches’ button George had so easily undone.

George’s sleepy blue eyes lingered on him as he threw the napkin back on the table and wiped his right thumb over his lip in a casual move. The very thumb that had pressed against Ross’ naked cock not moments ago. Ross swallowed heavily as he saw the pink flash of George’s tongue dart out to lick along the skin.

Then, George nodded at both Mr Williams and Ross and left the dining room with swift steps.

 


End file.
